I had a whole bunch of things I was going to say, and decided to say none of them. Hehe. Hm, I was going to post this last night, but my brother was monopolizing the phoneline and computer; really annoying.
Considering this chapter was nearly completely written after I posted chapter 4, it should never have taken a week to write it. The last five or so pages took me five days to come up with. Five days and half a dozen rewrites. Sheesh. Somehow, each version seemed worse than the last until friday when I just decided to write it and that's what you're getting. If it's crap (and it maybe, I just can't look at it anymore) I'm sorry. It's still better than it was, so if you don't like it, just imagine what the original version was like. *eyes go wide in horror*
Lol. Hm, slower posting is definitely worse for me than you. It means I can't get rid of this story for months and months. And I really want to be done with this. *glares darkly at nothing in particular* How crazy is that? I haven't even finished writing this and already I don't want to look at it any more. I don't want to write anymore, and yet ideas for stories keep popping into my head that just beg to be written. I had a really odd idea for an AU, one with a mean Legolas, but I'm not even sure why or what or how and I dare not think of it, because if I do, I'll never get this done. And yesterday, a nice little scene with Legolas and Thranduil popped into my head that was just so cute that I had to write it down so I wouldn't forget it, and I have no idea what I'm going to do with it.
And now that I've continued in this pointless vein for a fair couple of minutes, I'll let you get on to the story. If I hold on to it too much longer, I might read it again and decide I don't like it and not post it, so have fun. And don't forget to review. In fact, when you review, don't forget to point out anything that I've left out or not touched on sufficiently. It's dificult to keep all the details in mind while I'm writing, and sometimes little things get lost. *g* Responses are at the bottom. That seems to work well.
*crosses fingers and pushes button*
Chapter 5
The land was flat, barren . . . empty. A drought had stripped the land of life centuries ago and life had never returned, the land too far gone to be recovered. The people had fled, seeking lands with more opportunity. But even the dead have their uses.
A man stood in the middle of these barren lands, the sky dark and the stars extra bright above him, casting a ghostly glow over the lands, perfectly calm. His horse stood nearby, moving anxiously in the unnatural lands, raising and lowering his head irritably with nothing to hold his attention. Not even grass grew. Dark gray eyes scanned the horizon, finding no break in the endless expanse of death before him. Even the wind was still.
It was a place good for conducting business far from the prying eyes of the ill-educated, those fool enough to believe that peace was theirs and no trouble could touch them, that evil had fallen with Sauron at the end of the second age. It was perfect, yet irritation curled through him.
He was a young man, only just having reached his twenty-sixth year, yet he held a position of power and trust with his lord, his skill having elevated him beyond his years. The trials he had endured had prematurely taken the innocence from his face, leaving him lean and stern. He did not mind. For him, it was an asset. What did bother him was incompetence in his subordinates.
His eyes narrowed. His contact was late.
The distant roar of rapidly approaching hooves drew his attention to a dark point on the horizon, one that approached rapidly. He glanced up, taking in the position of the stars in the moonless sky. His face set, and he locked away any and all emotion. One did not get to where he was by appearing weak.
Before long, the rider became visible: a man on a chestnut colored horse dressed in various shades of brown and tan, wrapped warmly against the chill of winter. He had brown eyes and hair a couple shades darker in a quasi-stupid face. He was a mingler, then, one sent to gather information among the commoners. Torl had long thought those people were a touch too stupid to do anything truly useful. He wondered if he would finally be proven correct.
The pair came to a rapid halt a little less than a dozen paces from his position, and the man slid off the back with the air of a man who expected a lightning bolt to shoot from the sky and strike the creature at any second. His posture was slumped, pleading, and Torl already did not like him. He opened his mouth--
"You're late," Torl interrupted, his voice low and cool, before the other could speak. The result was near what he would have expected if someone had kicked him in the jaw, for the man stumbled back and his mouth closed with a nearly audible snap.
The man wringed his hands together, then stepped forward once more and bowed hastily. "Forgive me, my lord. It will not happen again. There were problems with the road, a storm, it could not be helped, but I will be sure--"
"Pray don't continue," Torl interrupted again, nearly failing as he attempted to keep scorn off his face. "Your excuses mean nothing." He paused to see if the other would try to offer more excuses, but apparently this pathetic excuse for an agent possessed some sense, for he merely cringed. Torl's eyes twitched, and he decided the best thing to do was end this meeting quickly. "It is time," he announced crisply.
The man startled. "My lord?"
"Do you need your ears checked as well as your head?"
"N-no, my lord."
"Good." Torl turned to mount his horse, only to be halted by a timid question.
"Do the orders stand, my lord?"
Dark gray eyes made even darker by irritation turned to look at him. This one, it appeared, was even more daft than the others. He would be glad to tell his lord that the man was incompetent. "Have you been given new orders?"
"No, my-my lord."
"Then they stand," he ground out.
"Yes, my lord." The man bowed quickly. His brown eyes flickered briefly, then he fled with all the speed he could muster, gone even quicker than he had arrived.
Torl stared after him, an odd feeling tickling at his senses; he brushed it aside as irritation and pulled himself onto his horse's back, turning to head to his own duties. Yet he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was missing something, something important. It was a feeling that followed him well across the dead plains arrayed before him.
*~*~*~*~*
Elladan fell to the ground with a hard thud, his hands secured behind his back and unable to break his fall. Elrohir was dumped down behind him, thrown to the ground in irritation by their captors. The days had stretched into weeks, and each new attempt at escape had been met with the same result: failure.
Boots appeared before his face, and he rolled backwards, ignoring the spark of pain up his arm, to look up at the face the boots belonged to. Had he not felt so angry himself, he might have quailed at the fire in the man's eyes. As it was, he merely glared back.
"You are determined to try our patience," Conyc observed darkly. "So be it. You will reap the consequences of your actions. After all, we only need you alive."
He walked away and others grabbed him, forced him to walk or be dragged between them, and his pride would allow him to suffer no such indignity. They led him and his brother to a tree. His hands were tied above his head, secured over one of the limbs, and Elrohir was placed next to him.
The first blow plowed into his stomach, knocking away his breath, and was followed by an uppercut that rocked his head back. Blood dripped from his nose and he saw spots, little ones like gnats. Yet they did not just use fists. Before long, he prayed for oblivion . . . and was denied, the pain swirling into the hazy darkness with him.
*~*~*~*~*
Wind whistled past him, a high wail that made his ears ring. He heard it--he could not feel it. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was white. He looked up--down?--into white nothingness that both expanded, endless, to the horizon and went nowhere at all, held claustrophobically close. Glancing to either side produced the same empty space. Frowning, disturbed and confused, he sat up. He appeared to be seated on solid floor, yet the same whiteness showed beneath him. His feet, as he stood up, were both seemingly firmly planted and hanging in midair with nothing to support his weight.
He swallowed hard, his emotions hovering in limbo, mixing and jumbling together, all crowding him and hanging back until he felt he was falling--falling . . . yet no bottom appeared in sight. It was still white, all white, and his feet were planted. He held out his hands and turned slowly in a circle--and could not be sure he moved. His eyes scanned desperately about him, and he turned again, hoping to uncover something he had not seen once; find a door, a crack, a smudge, anything. . . .
It was strange that what caught his eye a moment later was white. He stopped spinning, his eyes locked on a space in the distance, a point of brighter white, of light that burned into his eyes and brought no pain. He squinted out of reflex, trying to see more clearly and began walking towards it. Whether he got nearer or it grew or something else entirely occurred, he could not say, but it expanded to encompass his sight and slowly resolved into a familiar form.
A woman--no, an elf-maiden stood before him. Long golden hair flowed past her shoulders, softly framing a perfect face. Her gown was white, yet seemed even purer than the flawless walls, defining the maiden before him perfectly. Bright, true green eyes stared at him solemnly, the color of verdant growth, of life in the spring in the Shire. He knew her.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, startled at the sound of his own voice, which was both ringing and dampened, a contradiction he did not know what to make of anymore than anything else around him. What was going on?
She did not answer, merely watched him, her shimmering emerald eyes filled with sadness, a strange darkness that seemed to lend depth to elven eyes without detracting from the true color of their eyes easily found in hers. He found himself drawn to them.
He looked at her intently, searching her gaze with his own, hoping to unravel the mysteries that held her sorrow. He felt pulled, and suddenly rushed towards the green orbs, lights flashing in them, streaking past him, force or friction pressing against his lungs, and for a moment he could not breath. He was drowning . . . only to blink and find himself in an unfamiliar land.
The grass was dry and brittle, the air just tinged with the last vestige of winter cold. The trees looked worn and dead. He looked around, startled, just as lost as before, though he was now in a different place--a real place, if either were. Hesitantly, he stepped forward, making his way through the trees. There was no one near. Nothing moved. The air itself was dead, devoid of spark, of breath. His lungs labored, and yet he did not breathe, nor did he lack air. No breath stirred from his lips. The grass did not shift beneath his feet.
Shadows pressed into his mind, drawing his eyes towards two dark smudges, poignant against their backdrop but indistinguishable from their surroundings--yet another contradiction he could not explain. He took a step closer.
A light flashed before his eyes. Sound intruded. A scream--a crack! A blur of movement, of color, drew across his vision, dark and light. A cry--
His step faltered. All that stood around him were the trees, silent sentinels long past their prime, sickened and withered, too tired to stand guard and warn of darkness, of danger. Their presence spoke a slow death, of decay hidden from sight. Sound did not intrude. He stepped.
A sudden flash of red, a hand, a snap! Pain, a lance of fire. Crude laughter, there then gone, snatched yet lingering. Someone moved. Words, "You'll pay for that." Too fast. A rustle of chains, a snap of whip, a painting, an image, a cry--
His body tightened, spasming as if to gasp for air, attempting to pull in the life-giving gas that did not exist. He could not. He breathed out. His back tingled, a fairly electric charge in stripes down his back, sparking with half remembered pain.
Trembling, he stepped forward, determined to see what hung just beyond his grasp, then again. Each step bringing a new sound, a sight, a taste, a smell, all in horribly rapid succession, striking into his mind, piercing his brain, blinding, hurting-- He shuddered helplessly.
A face! Terrible and stern. A sneer, bright eyes, then pain.
Darkness, a terrible darkness that continued even when the eyes were open. Red eyes, glowing from the abyss. Pain, stinging, lashing pain that lingered. . . .
Chains bound his arms, bit into the skin of his wrists. He could not breath. The pressure was too great, biting, squeezing. He gasped--
Crack! Fire lashed up his back--
Skittering, the ominous low clicks of stone giving way. The ground disappeared under his hands--falling, falling, then pain. The air was forced from his lungs, wrung from already starved lungs. Laughter, pain, lights, screams . . . fists--
He stumbled and fell, collapsing to his knees as if in great pain. He felt none, but his body could no longer hold his weight. He was drifting, fading, dying. . . . His eyes tracked hopelessly over the ground, searching for something, anything, his mind a floating jumbled mess that whirled beyond control, mired in painful thoughts too terrible to bear, taunted by half recalled sights that sent terror racing through him with the force of lightning. He flailed helplessly, sinking. . . .
His eyes landed on the suspended forms and froze. In an instant, he felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing, his mind's frantic tumblings no longer even a breath of a thought, a stirring of the faintest of breezes.
Two figures hung before him, familiar, yet beyond his grasp to identify. Their arms were suspended above their heads, their bodies covered in a motley collection of bruises and sores. Horrible wounds decorated their torsos, dripping blood long dried to their toes, which dangled, just brushing their ground.
They had long dark hair pulled back in intricate braids. Blood caked the sides of their pale, ashy gray faces and bound the dark strands close to their heads. Hollow, glassy blue eyes stared in horror out of unblinking sockets. His eyes drifted down to the only relatively clear skin across their chests, darkened by purple bruises in a kind of cloud across their bodies. Writing, crudely carved and horribly elegant, was scribbled across their chests, standing out in angry red as it formed cruel words. It was ancient elvish, and the speech was Black. One Ring to rule them all, one fate to claim them; one man to doom them all, and in the shadows leave them. Mocking laughter touched his ears.
He gasped and jerked away--
*~*~*~*~*
Aragorn sat up, a silent gasp on his lips, drenched in a cold sweat. His eyes took in the stone that surrounded him, the dance of red flames off the wall, the quiet hissing of the fire, but he only saw that last image: Elladan and Elrohir, dead, words of doom written across their chests. Dark laughter echoed hauntingly in his ears.
Shakily, he pulled himself to his feet and crossed hurriedly to the far wall, nearly collapsing on the packs in his haste to get there. Trembling hands fumbled with the water canteen and the cool liquid splashed across his hands before he managed to bring the neck to his mouth. The water tasted like acid as it slid down his throat but he drank it anyway; then he tipped back his head and emptied the contents on his face. He leaned forward as the water dripped from his nose and chin and struggled to calm and steady his breathing, ignoring his now soggy clothes.
That was by no means the first dream he had had, but it was certainly the worst. It was also different. Before, the dreams--while still filled with pain and blood--had held a sense of doom, of impending death, a feeling that danger was near but not quite certain, not quite there. As time had progressed, the night visions had acquired a sense of urgency, of certainty. Neither was what he felt now. He felt finality. He felt whipped, taunted with what he could not reach. That had been a warning, a message, and he knew what it said.
Aragorn scrubbed his hands across his face and shifted until he sat on the floor. He pulled his legs up close and wrapped his arms around them. The fire had warmed the cold stone nicely over the hours, and the air was nearly hot, but he could not shake the chill from his heart, his bones the physical actions the only thing that could lend him any comfort. Pained, he clenched his eyes shut and dropped his head forward to rest on his knees.
One Ring to rule them all, one fate to claim them; one man to doom them all and in the shadows leave them.
The words played through his mind, twisted about by a heart that knew what they meant and did not want to accept it; a heart that searched desperately for it to mean something other than what he knew, what he feared. That Elladan and Elrohir themselves would tell him it meant nothing, that he was being silly, and Legolas and his father would agree, gave him no comfort. His heart would not be dissuaded, even as it searched.
He knew.
If Elladan and Elrohir died, it would be for him, because of him. They would die as the price demanded of Shadow for the loss of the One Ring all those years ago by Isildur, his ancestor and forefather, the one whom was responsible for the continued existence of shadow, and he could do nothing to stop it.
NO!
He slammed his hand into the ground before he even realized it and nearly yelped at the pain that shot up his arm, just barely choking back the sound that would alert Legolas that something was wrong. Of their own volition, his silver eyes turned to insure the prince still slept, that his movement had not woken him.
Legolas slept on.
Aragorn breathed out a quiet sigh, half from relief and half from despair. He knew he had worried his friend earlier, scared him even, yet he knew not what to say or do. Everything was happening so fast. Barely had he escaped one horror than he was thrown into another. It was wholly ridiculous. More than anything, he wanted to bare his soul to his friend, unburden his heart of his troubles, but he knew not what to say, how to tell his friend what he feared, knew, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the elf prince would try to brush it aside as nothing.
He knew their death would be his fault; knew, also, that he had to find them and stop it. Less clear, was how. How was he supposed to find two elves when they had already left their last concrete location and the one they had supposedly been heading towards was safe? There should be no problem, no danger, yet he knew there was. They could be anywhere. If this was a test on his way towards that destiny he did not want, the Valar had chosen a good one.
Idly, he rubbed his hand over the back of his head to relieve his frustration, feeling the lump that had formed there. It hurt nowhere near as much as it had earlier, and for that he was grateful. He had not truly realized he had the injury until Legolas had touched the back of his head, and the shooting pain that had erupted in his skull was not how he would have chosen to learn. He pushed himself to his feet, the restless agitation he felt inside forcing him to move.
What if Legolas had been right? What if he missed them because he was out looking for them and they had ridden past miles to the north or south? Middle-earth was a large place, and there were many lands that one could pass in unnoticed. Yet what if he and Legolas were wrong? Why was he even debating the question when he already knew the answer?
Because I do not like the answer I have.
Aragorn hissed in vexation, annoyed both with himself and his train of thought. He needed something to do. With a last cautious glance at the elf, he moved to the doorway and slipped outside, emerging into a horridly chill midmorning surprisingly free of rain, the storm apparently having blown itself out sometime during the night he had slept through incredibly well considering how he awoke. Clouds still hovered over the sky, a depressing gray mass that floated almost listlessly and diffused the sun into a weak glow that struggled to light the surroundings. He turned and began walking towards the corral where they had left the horses.
Hodoer still slept when he entered, but Ardevui turned to regard him with measuring eyes. He did not know how, but it seemed to him that the elven prince's horse had picked up its master's dislike and distrust of humans and was slower to release those prejudices than the fair being he considered his friend. Every time he looked into her eyes, he felt like he was standing before King Thranduil, waiting for him to pass judgment.
He blinked at her, then continued over to his steed, skirting as far away from the temperamental mare as possible without even realizing it, and stood by his head. Truly, he hated to wake the faithful creature, but he knew better than to start examining the stallion while he was yet sleeping. A hoof to the chin had made sure it was a lesson he would not forget. Common knowledge said it was unwise to sneak up on a ranger; Aragorn had learned the same held true for a ranger's horse. His brothers had been highly amused once they got over being extremely worried when Hodoer had knocked him flat on his back because of his ignorance.
The young man smiled tightly, forcing himself to focus on the tangible, and reached out to stroke Hodoer's nose, softly speaking in elvish, "Wake up, my friend. We've much to do, and I need to check your injuries." Soft brown eyes blinked open to stare at him, the horse's head slightly turned to better see him. "Has Ardevui been giving you a hard time?"
He chuckled softly as the horse nudged him, making little noises that he took to be an explanation. He patted his neck. "Well, hold still. I shall attempt to get this over with quickly, then you can show her who's boss."
An aggrieved snort followed him, and it could only have come from Ardevui. He resisted the urge to turn and see if she was glaring at him like he thought she was. Instead, he reached up and undid the cloak from his horse's back, pulling it off as gently as he could in case the fabric had stuck to any of the wounds. He did not want to reopen them with incautious movement. The cloak came away easily, and he was relieved the poultice seemed to have done its work well, the cuts mending nicely. He would need to put more on, but they could ride today if need be. It would do Hodoer good to be moving, in any case, to keep the injury loose.
He nodded to himself, and trailed his hand down Hodoer's leg as he moved to check his other injuries, sliding down until his hands encountered the bandages. Slowly, he unwound them, taking the same care against pulling as he had with the cloak, and found that these had healed just as well if not better. After all, they had been nothing more than painful scratches. If need be, he could have run with these no problem, but it put the ranger's heart at ease to know his faithful friend was healing well.
Tucking the bandages away to dispose of later, Aragorn stood. "I think you'll heal, my friend," he said, patting Hodoer's dark coat as he moved towards the only packs they had left in the stone hold: the horse feed.
He pulled the special bags from the inner compartments and put two scoops in each, then approached Ardevui, well aware he had a better chance of getting the mare to cooperate if he served her first. She lowered her ears at his approach, but did not fight when he put the bag on, sliding her nose in, then passing the halter up over her ears to hold it in place.
The young man patted her neck, and ignored her glare as he moved back towards Hodoer. "What do you think, my boy? Women?" He grinned as the horse moved its head up and down as if nodding, then slipped the feed bag over his head, as well. "Eat up. Perhaps, then, we can convince worry-wart Legolas to allow us to travel today."
"I heard that, Strider," a voice called from the entrance.
"You were supposed to," he returned without thinking, slightly surprised by the other's presence, then glanced back over his shoulder, concerned. "I had not expected to wake before you. Are you injured?"
"And you say I worry too much," Legolas returned with a frown, walking over to check on Ardevui. "No, I simply expected you would sleep longer. How's your head?"
"As messed up as ever," he replied glibly. He did not need to see his friend's glare to know it was there. Aware of how badly he had frightened the elf, he continued more sincerely. "Better. It was little more than a nasty knock to begin with, you know."
"I know."
Silence fell between them for a moment, and Aragorn wondered if he was the only one who felt the need to break it, to fill it with pointless chatter, if necessary; but Legolas did not talk, and he busied himself with spreading more salve across Hodoer's haunches and down the backs of his legs, wrapping a bit more linen about them to keep dirt off. When he was done, he placed the items back in his pocket from whence they had come and turned to find Legolas watching him.
The elf studied him with a closed expression kept carefully neutral. "How are you?" he asked, his voice hesitant, as if there was a completely different question he wanted to ask and did not quite dare.
The customary "fine" came to his lips, but something held it from vocalization, perhaps the hurt he saw hovering at the edges of his friend's eyes. "I've been better," he admitted slowly. Then he smiled ruefully and added, "I didn't need any more knocks to the head."
"Don't we know it," the elf agreed, a smile touching his lips that did not quite reach his eyes. Blue eyes lanced into silver. "Don't worry about Elladan and Elrohir. They can take care of themselves, and no one's going to kill them before we have the chance."
Aragorn sighed and laughed, feeling for a moment like he did not know where he was; it was strange to feel the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. He looked into Legolas' eyes soberly. "I'm glad you're with me, mellon nin. I couldn't do this alone."
Legolas smiled, warmth showing in his eyes. "Well, good." Mischief sparked to life in the bright blue eyes. "Means I won't have to beat my head against a rock wall to get you to listen to me."
"No," the young man agreed, following the elf as they walked back to the cavern. "Just a tree."
*~*~*~*~*
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Black orbs glittered in the flickering light cast by the fire. His hands hovered above a map of Middle-earth, a slender chain held in one with a pointed yellowish-green stone attached to one end. The glow that hovered about it faded away as his eyes were revealed. Obsidian eyes that sparkled maliciously stared down at the map.
"Weathertop," he murmured to the cavern walls, his voice echoing and dying in the same instant. "They draw near to Bree."
Yes, they draw near, he added silently, for his knowledge alone. But they will find no safety there. I will make sure of it.
His eyes slid closed and the glow once more lit the semi-precious stone that hovered over worn parchment. Now, all he had to do was wait. The time would come, and come quickly, and then all would be his, delivered into his hand. Almost imperceptibly, the stone inched further along the map, tracing a route along the road.
*~*~*~*~*
The land was still, the quiet broken only by the rhythmic clap of hooves against the rain wet earth. It was early morning but the clouds hung so heavy overhead it was difficult to tell. A mist seemed to hang in the air, a hint of moisture that spoke of rain but was too fine to touch. The wind of their passage blew back their hair and cloaks, numbing what skin it could find.
They had passed Bree late the day before, riding on after having the gate unceremoniously slammed in their faces along with the insistence that they were not welcome, an event Aragorn seemed to find somewhat perturbing, though he passed it off as a sign from the Valar that they should simply continue on to find the twins. That struck Legolas as rather odd as the human had never made such comments in the past, but his concern for Elladan and Elrohir kept him from arguing too much, and--if he was honest with himself--so did the fact that it was a human village. His experiences had been too far from pleasant for him to ever actually look forward to spending time in one.
The land before them rolled away steadily, rolling away beneath the powerful strides of the horses, Hodoer showing no ill effects from his brush with the tree. Legolas suspected that was not because it was well, but simply because he was just as stubborn as his master.
Weathertop was a faint memory behind them, the beginning of their third day out just dawning on their journey which had been accomplished with few stops for rest or food, though Aragorn had seen to the health of the horses with a nearly fanatical precision that the elf prince was not sure what to make of. It seemed nearly compulsive, but he could find no instance that gave precedent for it, and he was not sure what it meant--a fact that disturbed him, if only mildly. Humans were, after all, quite beyond comprehension. He simply liked to think he understood them better than most--or that he at least understood Aragorn.
He glanced aside at him to find the ranger once more checking the fittings as he rode. Finding them secure and well-situated, he looked back up, only to glance down a few moments later and fiddle with something else. It was off-putting for the elf to watch the human so antsy, and vexing to realize he did not quite know its cause. He suspected what part of it could be, however, and could not let it continue.
The elf prince waited until the human glanced back at him, knowing he would from observation over the last couple of days, and spoke when he caught the young man's eyes. "Perhaps we should rest," he said.
The man frowned, then shook his head. "We should keep moving. I do not like these clouds. There is something foul about them."
He could not disagree with that--had thought the same thing more than once, in fact--but, "You are unbearable when you are tired."
"I am not tired."
"Then what is wrong?" Legolas pressed, hoping the human would voice his concerns on his own. It was easier that way. "You are fidgeting worse than a century old elfling.
"Truly? I have never met one." The ranger looked at him with innocent silver eyes. He had thought the young man had outgrown that look.
He glared. "You are avoiding the issue."
"What issue? There is no issue," he exclaimed quietly. "You asked a question. I answered. End of story."
"Not end of story," Legolas persisted, frowning. "There are shadows under your eyes, and your back is tense. You keep playing with the reins as we ride and glance constantly down at the reins, the bridle, the leather--anywhere and everywhere so long as you do not have to sit still. Do not pretend there is nothing wrong."
Aragorn was silent, and, as he stared ahead of him through the trees that buffered them on either side, he could not see his eyes to read his thoughts. For a few moments, he let the silence hang, let the human go over his thoughts in peace. When he determined enough time had passed, however, he spoke.
"You never said why you were up so early that day," he observed softly, leaving an opening for the man to talk. He hoped he would; he feared he would not.
Unexpectedly, the ranger reined Hodoer in and slowed his pace to a walk. Legolas followed suit, matching the other's pace when they stood side-by-side. Presented with the man's profile, the elf could better gauge his mood: pensive; dark. He's brooding, Legolas realized, his heart sinking without his permission. He waited in anxious silence, willing the human to speak, but knowing it would do no good to press him.
"What would you do, Legolas, if you knew a loved one were in danger because of you, and there was nothing you could do to help them?"
That was not what he had been expecting. A frown crossed his face. In fact, expected or not, he did not like this question, nor its possible implications. Still, he would have to answer, or he knew from experience the human would not continue. "In danger and nothing I could do?" he questioned, clarifying. A nod confirmed him. "I would find someone who could."
"What if there was no one?"
"That would depend upon the situation," he replied.
Aragorn nodded, still staring unwaveringly ahead, his eyes dark. "What if you were the only one who knew they were in trouble?"
"Do the other circumstances hold?" he asked. Another nod met his question. He sighed, taking care to keep the action as much from his friend as possible. It was worse than he thought. How he thought it could not have been too bad and so end up worse was beyond him, but it had happened. "I would go after them."
"Even if there was nothing you could do?" the ranger insisted with a serious glance his direction, carrying a tone he recognized as the "I must be sure you understand what's going on" tone his father was so fond of when he believed his son was being thick. It was placing a question in a statement and allowed no evasion.
Legolas nodded. "As would you."
Aragorn nodded somberly, his face set and grave. The elf would have thought he marched to his death from his expression. He looked like he knowingly traversed this earth on a mission he would not return from.
The elf sucked his breath in through his teeth abruptly and did not wait for his friend to continue. "Elladan and Elrohir will be fine," he insisted firmly, nearly harshly. "And so will you."
The young man looked at him, a straight look, one of the first he had received in more than a day, Aragorn's eyes meeting firmly with his own. Silver eyes searched his, and he let his certainty show, hoping to comfort his friend in a way his words never would; Aragorn was too self-depricating and stubborn to ever believe what he did not accept, even if he wanted to.
Something of the dark shadows drifted away, a tension that had coiled deep within the other's soul loosened and retreated, if only a little. It was a victory he would accept for now, one he intended to build on soon. It would have to start with finding the twins.
Aragorn smiled, a small smile that spoke more for his gratitude than a boisterous one ever could. "Thank you, mellon nin, once again. I seem to need your encouragement a lot of late.
"We are friends, Strider. It is what friends do; something you reminded me of years ago that I had nearly forgotten." He smiled back at the human. "And when we find your wayward brothers, we will simply have to give them a piece of our mind for worrying us so."
The man's smile widened. "Likely they will simply smile and tell us it serves us right for making them worry so much."
"True." Legolas pursed his lips, thinking. "What excuse do they use for your father?"
The human thought about that a moment. "Unless I am gravely mistaken," Aragorn answered. "The same one we use."
"They use the "But it wasn't my fault" excuse?"
The young man nodded slowly. "In fact, since they are older, they started it."
"Hmm."
"Do you think we should come up with a better excuse?"
"Why?" Legolas asked, sounding startled. "It's true."
"I don't think he believes it."
The elf prince snorted. Privately, he did not think the elf lord would believe anything they said. Or rather, he did not think the elf lord could ever accept anything they said, simply because it was difficult to believe they could get into so much trouble without it being their fault. Legolas was present, even, and sometimes he could not believe it. Often, he did not want to believe it. "I don't think he will believe any excuse we make, my friend."
"True." Aragorn was silent a moment, his mind twisting down its own peculiar path. "We could tie them to a pair of identical chairs in the gardens and paint them with berries and paste."
Legolas laughed, thrown by the suggestion. "We should!" he exclaimed merrily. Then he turned thoughtful. "Though . . . I do not think they would find it nearly so poetic as we would."
"Something different, then. It seems we will have plenty of time to decide."
"Right," the light-haired being agreed lightly. "And more time besides because I still think we should rest."
Aragorn gave him a sour look. "You mean that I should rest, and I disagree. I still don't like those clouds, and I want to be able to return to Rivendell as quickly as possible. We can't do that without those troublemakers I call brothers."
Legolas sighed and gave him a long-suffering look. "I had to try, my friend. I had to try."
The ranger laughed.
Suddenly, the world shattered. A whipping whir--like flimsy metal swung rapidly through the air--split the silence behind them, followed closely by a stinging crack and a loud boom that shook the earth and traveled through them to steal the oxygen from their lungs. It engulfed them in a cocoon of sound that was every bit as smothering as the thickest blanket. Fear shot down his spine. Ardevui and Hodoer reared before bolting forward, away from the sound ignoring the light that suddenly blossomed around them in their haste.
It was not something one experienced often, the scarcity of the event doing nothing to detract from the certainty of one's conclusions. Anyone who had lightning strike close to them, within a mile, did not soon forget the experience. It drove home the superiority of nature like nothing else could and left its mark upon its victim forever.
The horses knew it well, and that strike had fallen well within a mile. Legolas felt electricity dance across his skin, the hairs on his arms standing on end, and struggled futilely to bring the terrified steed back under control. She ignored his attempts and simply chased after Hodoer, The elf did his best to simply stay on, re-seating himself quickly and with more than just a little effort.
Once more, Aragorn rode before him, Hodoer's speed surpassing his mare's, and he spared a passing thought that the stallion was apparently quite well to run so quickly. Wind whistled past his ears, erasing all other sound, barely audible past his still ringing ears. Everything was dim in his somewhat dazzled sight, but he could just make out the river. He had been hearing it for several minutes before the lightning had driven them forward.
Another two struck behind them, felling a tree, and he glanced back briefly, noting the sturdy trunk that lay across the road, now blocking passage. Then his eyes were drawn ahead and he could see the bridge they were rapidly approaching, could see the rushing, turbulent waters that had risen with the heavy rains they had received that sped past just beneath the bridge, lapping at its planks.
He watched with a growing dread as Aragorn pulled further ahead of him, Hodoer straining with all his might to go still faster. The human was simply holding on, body tense atop the panicked steed. As Hodoer reached the bridge, that dread turned to fear and his eyes stared wide as he felt the uncontrollable urge to shout to his friend, to warn him, even as he knew it would do not good.
"STRIDER!" he yelled. "LOOK OUT!" He knew beyond a shadow of the doubt the words never reached him; knew that even if they had, there was nothing the human could do.
He watched helplessly as Ardevui carried him closer . . . closer to the bridge; watched Hodoer carry Aragorn over it, his hooves clapping dully against the wood; watched as he dared to hope his fear was foundless and that all would be well. He watched when that hope was dashed and replaced with shock.
Then a flash of lightning split the sky, diving before the fleeing horse in the flicker of an eye. Too close. Terrified, startled, Hodoer reared, backing frantically away from the horrible sound and burning light, twisting to get away. The human on his back was thrown forward, his hands pressed into the mane to keep from being flung over his head, then back as the steed darted away. His hands slid along the reins that were clutched before him but they could not save him. The aching appendages slid along the thin leather, finding no purchase, and Aragorn fell back over the railing into the crazy careen of rushing water below, slipping into the torrent with nary a sound.
Numb, Legolas watched from atop Ardevui's back as she reared, her feet pawing at the sky, then fell forward, for a wonder going still, perhaps just as stunned as her master.
His friend was gone.
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Review Responses:
Red Tigress: I have a confession: I nearly forgot Legolas, as well. *shrugs sheepishly* The original version neglected the elf. Heh, yeah, Hodoer. I feel sorry for him, too. AH! *clamps hands over mouth* I just had a brilliant idea. *smiles* Thanks for the inspriation. Hm, well, I really don't' know what makes me comfortable. I prefer to post quicker, but posting slower if less stressful, so we'll see. I'll work it out. Yes, must work it out. . . .
Tychen: Ironically, my mother hasn't said anything about how much time I spend writing in months. *smiles widely with surpressed laughter* But you're right. And there is plenty of boring stuff. Hopefully, I managed to build more tension here. *g*
NaughtyNat: lol. Yes, that's what counts. Hehe. Star Wars just sprang to mind. The scene with Obi-Wan and Anakin at the arena? ~Obi-Wan: I was beginning to wonder if you had even gotten my message. Anakin: I sent it to Coruscant just as you requested, Master. Then Padme and I decided to come rescue you. Obi-Wan: *glances up at hands bound about his head* Good job.~ Hehe *giggles* Ai. Oh, don't worry about being off-subject. I'm utterly pathetic, but I like hearing about other people's lives. I have none, so I like to live vicariously. *g* Funny you should mention it being funny if Legolas had it. I actually realized just as I was about to post, that it would be better if Legolas was the one who was injured. The problem, was that I couldn't simply switch them, so Aragorn got another owie. Alas, the posting schdule is for me, not you. *smirks* I'm horribly pessimistic. If I don't feel obligated to post, likely I never will, so. . . .
Grumpy: *bows* Thank you. *smiles brilliantly* Storms are tricky. Legolas. . . Legolas just lends himself to being a mother hen. Hehe. Mm, I love it when little things I think are cute are enjoyed. It gives me a warm feeling inside and I'm not quite sure why. Another thing to ponder over while I'm trying to come up with something for my college entrance essays. Ick.
Nerfenherder: You wouldn't have by any chance gotten inspiration for your screenname from Star Wars would you? Take away "en" and you've got Nerf herder. Hehe. Han Solo. Em *shakes head* Sorry. Star Wars was my first love. I was just never very good at writing it. I love rangers, too. Originally, my favorite was Legolas (I wanna be an elf) but I now simply love Aragorn. We have lots in common. Makes it easier to write him--I can get inside his head. Consequently, there's going to be lots of Ranger angst. Legolas will just be included more because I don't want the elf to be left out. Hehe. Fun dialogue is fun. Bet you couldn't have guessed, right. Lol. Sorry, sorry. I could go on forever; it's because I'm so quiet. Really, but I'll spare you the pointless chatter. *g*
Singing Wolf: I understand completely. I've been there. And I enjoyed reading your reviews. I'm glad you enjoyed them so much. Can't have a pathetic King. The problem as I see it, is that in making Aragorn competent, I go too far the other way with Legolas, make him pathetic instead. *rolls eyes* Would you be so kind as to warn me if I do that? Wack me upside the head or something? *puppy dog eyes* *grins* Pain is fun. Well, when it's bothering someone else, that is. *smiles nervously* It's that detail thing I get stuck on. *g* Your welcome.
Aromene: lol. We think alike. About storms, and school. . . . And I actually think writing is more important, but I have to bow to the restraints of society in this. *g* Thanks.
Konjurer: Thank you. It feels so good to hear my work is enjoyed so much. And I've felt the same thing. Em, did you accidentally hit the button? I hate it when that happens. *g*
Rangergirl: lol. Has this put you out of your misery? *raises eyebrows expectantly* Gotta love Aragorn--in all his forms. *g*